by Edward Lee
Her slow encroachment came to a momentary pause, and she gaped. “Goddamn!” she remarked. “That’s the biggest penis I’ve ever seen . . .”
Hays shrugged, flexing the trophy. “Problee so, Mrs. Willis. Same as what most gals say once they git a gander.”
She brought an astonished hand to her mouth. “Why, it must be almost ten inches . . .”
“No almost about it, ma’am,” Micah Hays corrected, “and that’s on an average day. I’se remember one time the Shiner twins was givin’me a double-header in the back’a their daddy’s van, and they’se was all drunk’n giddy’n pitchin’ a absolute fit over how big it was, so’s one of ‘em—Ellie June or Ruthie Sue, don’t rightly know which one on account they’se both look ‘zactly alike—she done snatched a ruler out her daddy’s toolbox and—well, no pun intendered—set ta measurin’my tool, and it measured ten and three-eighth inchers—no lie, ma’am.”
Mrs. Willis gulped. “What, uh, what did you do then?” What a silly-ass question! “Well, ma’am, I filled their yaps with cum, kept wood, ass-fucked the fudge out’a both of ‘em, then went on to the bar and had me a few beers, er, not that’s I’se prone ta usin’ such language in front of a respecterble married woman such as yerself, ma’am.”
“Ooo, and that’s quite an impressive pair of testicles you have, Officer . . .”
Micah Hays cupped them in his hands, a proud display. “Yes, ma’am, big as eggs they is, and I don’t mean hen’s eggs neither, I mean duck eggs. I know that fer fact, Mrs. Willis, ‘cos see one time I was cornholin’ one’a the Kessler girls, and the Kesslers as you may know they have theirselfs a duck farm out ‘tween here’n Crick City, and I’se fucked that gal in the butt so many times it were rumored she couldn’t walk fer a week, but ta git back ta the point, see, ma’am, we’se was doin’this in one’a their duck-pens—see, the Kesslers raise ducks, then sell ‘em ta Chinamen restaurants’n stuff in the city—and anyway I could plainly see all them duck eggs that’d been laid, and shore enough, they was the same size as my balls.”
“You’re quite a supernumerary, Officer,” Jeanne Willis said.
“A what? Micah Hays said.
“An unparallelled reproductive specimen. You wouldn’t happen to know your sperm-count, would you? Per cubic milliliter?”
“Pardon me?”
“Oh, no matter. I can index it later.” Mrs. Willis opened that laundry bag then, and got ta pullin’ out several things. One thing was somethin’ that looked like a purple marble. Another was a hyperdermic needle. And the last thing, see, was somethin’ of a very particular note to Hays: an empty 2-liter Coke bottle.
“Uh, ma’am?” he politely requested. “Before you git ta polishin’ my knob, you mind answerin’ a few questions?”
The way she was leanin’ over just then afforded Hays a spectackaler view’a her tits hangin’ down, and right between ‘em he could gander her beaver-fur, he could. “Go right ahead, Of ficer,” she agreed, and what she picked up from the contents’a the bag was that li’l purple marble thang.
“Like, did you murder yer husband Doc Willis?”
Jeanne Willis chuckled. “Oh, no, of course not.”
“Well, someone shore as hail did ‘cos shortly after he called the station ta report you as bein’ kidnapped, we seen his body in the closet with his throat cut ta the neckbone, and five minutes after that someone not only took off with a bunch’a empty 2-liter Coke bottles ‘zactly like the one ya just took out’a that laundry bag, but they also seemed ta take off with the Doc’s body in his fancy Mercedes, and, see, I got me this danged funny feelin’ that the person who done all that is you.”
Her breath gushed through a wanton smile. “Never mind any of that for now. All you need to do, Officer, is look into the light . . .”
The light? Hays thought. What light? The desk light, the ceilin’ light? Bud Light?
“This light—”
What she was holdin’ ‘tween her index finger’n thumb was that there purple marble thang, see, and then alls of a sudden all the lights in the room went out along with the television still showin’ the silly show with all them Calerforna tramps in the red swim suits—almost like a power line had gone down somewhere, and what happened after that was—
Dang! Hays thought.
—that purple marble thang in her fingers started to glow.
A real dark light it was, dark purplish-blue and really weird, and to top that off, Micah hisself began ta feel really weird, like woozy the way ya’d feel after maybe throwin’g back three neat shots’a Maker’s on a empty stomach, and that purple light just kinda . . . bloomed in his eyes such that it felt like the light were somehow gittin’ inside his haid!
“You must do as I say,” Mrs. Willis said but now it didn’t sound a whole lot like her voice, kinda deep’n tony like maybe the way she’d sound if she were talkin’from the end of a sewer pipe. “Do you understand, Officer Hays?”
“Uh-uh-uh,” Hays replied and noticed that his voice too sounded the same way and alls the while that nutty purple-blue light seemed ta be wrigglin’ deep in his noggin’ almost like the light were really fingers squirmin’ ‘round. “I’se reckon I understant just fine, Mrs. Willis.”
But that ain’t what he wanted ta say! What he wanted ta say was somethin’ like: You crazy nekit bitch! I’se arrestin’ you fer suspicion of murder, I am! And ya kin ferget about the blowjob ‘cos this is serious police business!
“Good, good, Of ficer Hays,” she returned. “Now, the first thing I need you to do is drop your pants . . .”
Hays dropped ‘em fast, his big hard dong kinda wobblin’like the way a divin’board does after someone jumps off it. But what needed to be mentioned was that Hays done so under no volition’a his own. Once he heard her words, his body simply done it, so it seemed that whatever that funky purple light was, it were takin’ command of his body but at least he could still think, and what he thunk was: It’s some kind’a hypnoseris! She’s hypnertizin’me, makin’me do thangs against my will! Some kinda hippie mind-control or somethin’! I gots ta fight it! I gots to!
But he weren’t fightin’it too well now were he? Not after droppin’ his police pants just as pretty as you please. And as the purple light seeped deeper into his brain, more’a her deep, wobbly, echoin’words came forth: “The Supremess will be pleased with your extraordinary contribution to her purpose, Officer Hays—”
The WHO?
“—and what’s going to happen now is you’re going to lie down on the floor and go to sleep, and I’m going to perform fellatio on you for an hour—”
Over my dead—Er, well, the thought of defiance didn’t last long really ‘cos, well, ‘cos havin’ a hot nekit gal suck his dick fer an hour sounded a mite dandy ta him...
“—and you’re going to aspirate your semen into my mouth several dozen times—”
Hays weren’t shore in spite’a his collerge education, but he figgered that aspiratin’semen meant havin’ a nut and this sounded a mite dandy to him too, but then a last trickle’a reason still remained in his mind: I’se gonna blow my cockhock in her mouth several dozen times . . . in a blammed HOUR? Shee-it, even I cain’t come THAT many times in a hour! It’s plumb humanly imposserble!
“—and this might strike you as humanly impossible, Officer, but I assure you, it is not. It’s the Supremess’power that makes it possible, and just as I assure you that you will have several dozen orgasms—in my mouth—in the space of an hour, I can further assure you that they will be the very best orgasms you’ve ever had in your life—”
Hays’mind continued to reel. The Supremess? Droppin’a couple dozen loads in a hour? The fuck’s she talkin’‘bout? But the more his thoughts continued to rebel, the more physically helpless he felt.
“—then you’ll wake up later and everything will be normal, Officer Hays, so there’s no harm done, is there?”
“Nuh-nuh-no, I guess not,” Hays said.
“Then I take it you’re ready to
begin?”
“Yuh-yuh-yes,” Hays said.
“Fine. But before we get down to businees, there’s still one more minor thing I need you to do, okay?”
“Shuh-shuh-shore,” Hays said.
Mrs. Willis placed the hyperdermic needle into his hand. “I need you to inject this syringe . . . into your penis...”
Say WHAT? That were ‘bout the craziest thang he ever heard. Ain’t no way in a million years I’se gonna stick a needle in my fuckin’ DICK? he thought, but that’s only what he thought. What he did was something else altogether.
Holy everlivin’SHEE-IT! What the HAIL am I doin’?
He took up that hyperdermic in one hand, pulled up his rockhard pecker with the other, and began to point that sharp needle right at his dick-knob!
“Go on,” Mrs. Willis ordered from behind the pulsing dark purple-blue light. “Be a good boy and empty that syringe into your penis . . .”
Beads of sweat crawled down Hays’ face like fiesty ladybugs. His fingers properly gripped the syringe while the needle-tip lowered ever closer to his cock-helmet, and alls he could think was: Fight it! Fight it! For he figgered it out now, he did. It’s the light that’s takin’ over my will! It’s that blammed evil purple light! Fight it!
“Good, good, stick it all the way in,” Mrs. Willis enthused.
Micah Hays cringed, his body unable to answer the commands of his brain, and what he felt next was the tip’a that sharp needle pushin’ inta his cock . . .
“Don’t worry, Officer Hays—” Jeanne Willis chuckled like a witch. “The needle’s only a few inches long . . .”
XIII
Chief Kinion was, by most folks’ standards, and pree-verussly mentioned, a big man, so most folks might’a been more’n a tad surprised ta see a silly old zombie grab the Chief by his collar’n throw him clear acrost the foyer where he landed on an antique telephone table and completely demolished it as a result (and this formidable impact, ta be shore, demolished that there telephone ta boot!) Kinion rolled over like a dizzied walrus, blinkin’the grog out’a his eyes, and then lights snapped on.
Kinion looked up . . . and saw the zombie.
“Doc Willis? the Chief mumbled.
It were Doc Willis, all right: old’n skinny with his gray hair stickin’up, yes sir, and he was just as Chief Kinion had seed him last, wearing tan slacks and a casual navy-blue shirt—oh, and one more thing. The Doc had a knife cut runnin’ from ear ta proverbial ear’n deep enough to show the front’a the neckbone (or what would more clinically be referred to as the pharynxal medial pterygoid plates and petrous bone, fer those’a ya interested).
Yeah, the Doc were dead, all right, startin’ ta rot as a matter’a fact, the skin on his old face turnin’ sort of a neat shade’a green, not ta mention that his eyes had clouded all over. A zombie, Chief Kinion thought, and he weren’t too far off, just like the zombies in that movie he’d took Dory May to in 1969 when the Chief couldn’t get wood so’s she’d run off ta pull a cunt-train with a Chevelle full’a snickerin’ greasers.
But then the indisputably dead doc Willis did somethin’ that none’a the zombies done in that movie.
The zombie dropped his trousers and took a shit on the floor.
“What the hail’d ya do that fer?” the Chief couldn’t help hisself but ask.
The zombie didn’t answer, ‘least not with words on account the Chief didn’t suppose zombies could talk. How this zombie’a Doc Willis did answer, however, was by haulin’ up his pants, and then grabbin’ the Chief again by the collar’n draggin’ him kickin’ and screamin’ toward . . . Guess that?
That’s right. He were draggin’the Chief right smack-dab toward that pile’a zombie shit.
And—oh, Gawd!—that pile’a shit were steamin’, it was, and then it became quite apparent what the Doc-Willis-the-Zombie intended ta do—
The Chief’s face was held less than an inch from that pile! And— ooo-eee!—did it stank! About the only thang that smelt worse than a pile’a shit was a pile’a dead-man’s shit, shore enough!
—was ta push the Chief’s face right straight down inta the shitpile until he smothered!
Aw, Gawd . . .
The Chief’s face were now just about ta kiss that big slab’a zombie fecal matter, it was, and he thought he just might die from the smell alone well before his face got stuck in it but . . .
No dag zombie’s gonna kill me, no sir! Not without a fight!
But before the Chief could surge up against that zombie’s intractable supernatural strength—which shorely he would’ve and then set ta open a can’a whup-ass on that servant’a Satan—he, well, what he done first was he burped hard’n heavy from all the viddles he et today, and when a man the size’a Chief Kinion burped, it can cause a fairly serious gastic hitch, it can, and when that hitch occurred, what happened next was the force’a that burp throwed the dead Doc Willis right off’a him, and . . .
Thuh-thunk!
The zombie was done throwed clear back into the front’a the stairwell, tripped, and landed with some force on the stairs themselfs, causin’ the back’a the Doc’s haid to impact quite forcefully with the edge’a the seventh step.
Then . . . nothin’.
The Chief drug hisself up, he did, and he were a purdy happy camper ta finally git his face away from that steamin’ pile’a zombie shit, and then turnt ta see what up’n happened to his attacker . . .
“Well, I’ll be . . .”
The zombie that were Doc Willis lay across the stairs with his head busted open like a coconut and alls’a his dead zombie brains muckin’ up the carpet.
“Yeah-boy!” the Chief celebrated. “See what happens when zombies mess with Chief Richard Kinion!”
He clapped his hands and guffawed up at his victory, and when he were done guffawin’, he looked down again and then he saw—
“What’n tarnations?”
He saw a hinged wood panel along the side’a the stairwell hangin’ ajar.
Hmm, he thought. I’se wonder what’s behind there . . .
Well, he found out right quick when he flipped that panel open’n saw a fuckin’ set of wooden steps!
A set of wooden steps leadin’ down . . .
Now, the Chief didn’t really want to climb down them steps, no he did not, but he figgered it was his duty ta do so, ‘specially given the oddities that were aboundin’, and one oddity in particular bein’ that he just watched a dead fella shit on the floor and then had ta kill him. Shore as chittlins was better fried than boiled, somethin’ were amiss in this here house, and the Chief needed ta know what it was. So with more effort than was worth mentionin’, he squeezed his girth into the opening behind that panel, and begun to descend them narrow steps.
Once he got down he found hisself standin’ in the middle of what looked ta be a laboratory of some kind, fulla micrascopes’n lab tables’n test tubes’n what not. And linin’ the walls was the big metal racks loaded up with boxes fulla blinkin’ lights’n meters’n knobs. A laboratory, it shorely is . . . But weren’t that the dangedest thing?
Yeah, and by the looks of it, Chief Kinion would know less about all this fancy equipment than he knowed about Naturalism in 19th Century Literature, but he’d shore like ta have a clue as ta what were goin’ on down here, just as shorely as he’d like ta know what brung Doc Willis back ta life.
But, see, the Chief had et damn near over an hour ago, and when goin’ so long without food, he found it hard to concerntrate, and shorely he’d need ta concerntrate if he expected ta figger out what was up with this here laboratory, and it just so happened that there was one apparatus in the lab that Chief Kinion recognized, right over there in the corner . . .
A refrigerator.
Yeah, I wonder what kinda chow they got in there. I could shore use me a plate’a cold ribs or maybe a big pork-chop sammich, yes sir! There were a consideration, however, in that most folks might not deem it too appropriate fer a officer’a the law to be helpin’ themselfs to so
meone else’s viddles without proper permission’a the rightful owner, but—Hail! the Chief thought, It ain’t like Doc Willis’ll mind much, on account I just kilt his dead-zombie ass!
So the Chief hauled that there refrigerator right on open and looked in.
XIV
. . . and suddenly all the winders shattered, from the outside in! “That’s it, that’s it, Officer,” Mrs. Willis’ voice continued to flutter from behind that funky, hypnertizin’ purple light. And, that’s right, Micah, now almost totally lost of his free-will, had the point’a
that syringe just about to sink inta his dick-knob!
I cain’t fight it! Hays thought. I’se helpless against her and her evil, hypnertizin’, mind-controlin’ purple light! I gots no choice! I’se gonna have to stick this needle inta my peter!
But . . . could it be true? Could it be that PFC Micah Hays, God’s gift to cracker women, was actually going to insert a hypodermic needle—several inches long!—all the way into his pride and joy? “NO!” Hays yelled, and in a movement nearly too fast to be
detected by the nekit eye, he dropped the syringe, whipped out his cool-lookin’ mirrored sunglasses, and put ‘em on, and suddenly his senses had returned!
“I’se in control now, bitch,” he chuckled to Mrs. Willis. ‘Cos, see, all that eerie hypnertizin’ light were now reflecterin’ off’a Micah’s sunglasses straight back inta Mrs. Willis’eyes! She just stood there, blank-faced now, in a deep trance.
“Go ta sleep, bitch,” Micah Hays ordered. “And don’t wake up till I’se tell ya.”
“Yes, Officer Hays,” she droned back, and—slap!—she collapsed to the floor, her bare ass and back causin’the slap, and then that queer little purple marble fell from her fingers, the purple light abated, and the motel room lights snapped back on.
“Close call.” Hays stuffed his penis back into his pants and zipped up, then looked out the front winder.
“I knew it!”
Shore enough, Doc Willis’fancy shiny-red kraut Mercedes were parked right out front. “She’s the one who stolt it! She’s the one who cut Doc Willis’throat, then hustled his body out the house ta confuse us! And she’s the one who knocked all them boys out at the County Watch-House, and no doubt done the same thang ta all the fellas at the VFW hall!” Indeed, the deducterive Micah Hays had figgered it all out--er, well, not all of it just yet. Like what was with the dickneedle’n all that mumbo jumbo? And what was with the purple marble’n Coke bottle’n and alls that shit?